


Later, Baby

by signifying_nothing



Category: K-pop, VIXX
Genre: Gen, a for angst, almost non-consensual situations?, hopeful ending???, stripper!au???, this is weird and i'm sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-03
Updated: 2016-06-03
Packaged: 2018-07-12 01:55:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7079887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/signifying_nothing/pseuds/signifying_nothing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"we went to college together and four years later you're famous and i'm... well. i'm not."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Later, Baby

**Author's Note:**

> written for a tumblr prompt, which you can find [here.](http://signifying-nothing-at-all.tumblr.com/post/145350227632/signifying-nothing-at-all-give-me-a-pairing-and) i like requests.  
> why can't i write anything like... nice. wtf. enjoy this pain.

Taewkwoon didn't really like to brag about his success. It just wasn't in his nature to talk himself up or boast about what he'd accomplished. He'd worked hard and caught the eye of a record company executive and his career had taken off and he hadn't thought about his thankless college days in a long, long time. He was too swamped with work, quietly enjoying the bounty of his success and working to become even more of an expert than he already was. But it was hard not to think about his college days when the dancer on the table cocking his pelvis and licking his lips used to dance in their dorm room, when the now long, red hair had been black and cut short, close to his head.

“I like this joint,” Hwang had said. “I like the dancers here.” Normally Taekwoon just had a drink with his coworkers and higher-ups and left, he didn't stay long enough for the strippers to come in but that night he'd been celebrating the huge success of a new album and he'd been drinking, laughing, but the laugh died on his mouth because there he was, looking up at his college roommate on the table, wearing next to nothing except for latex shorts and fishnet, boots up to his knees and chains hanging around his neck. His lips were the color of the red light he was dancing beneath, rolling his body and hips and looking out from under his bangs like the troublemaker he'd always been.

It was Cha Hakyeon up on that table and Taekwoon had never been so uncomfortable in his life. Hakyeon had a spine made of mercury, slim hips and an ass that looked just as good as it had coming out of the dorm bathroom in a white towel, perky and round despite the fact that he'd been living on dry chicken, kale and protein shakes.

“Now that's what I call a dancer,” Hwang snickered, and Taekwoon almost flinched. “Look at that ass, my god.”

Taekwoon wanted to scream. Or leave, but he was trapped between two coworkers and Hakyeon had seen him, was staring at him with those hard, dark eyes. He felt his skin crawling as Hakyeon—En, said the card on the table—turned away. He reached his arms over his head to grab the metal pole behind him and slid down, spreading his legs and letting them rest to either side of a man at the table, courting him with large bills, tucking them into his shorts and the garters around his thighs like he was a whore and maybe he was, Taekwoon didn't know.

“C'mere, gorgeous,” Hwang said. “Let me get a handful of that ass.” God help Taekwoon, Hakyeon got on his knees and crawled over, getting a few slaps on the thighs, bills tucked into his shorts and garter and the tops of his boots. He moved right past Taekwoon to slide into the mans lap, smiling wickedly as large bills were slipped into the bra he clearly wore for just that purpose, as it was made of lace and did very little to hide anything, including the piercings in his nipples. “There's a good boy,” he said, and Taekwoon felt himself physically heave a little. Hakyeon's thigh was pressed to his as the man grabbed his hips and pulled him to all but sit on his groin. “Give us a lapdance, beautiful, the best you have.”

“Us?” Hakyeon asked and oh, oh god he sounded exactly the same and Taekwoon wanted to _run._ “Costs double for that,” he said, leaning forward and rolling his body. The executive grunted into his chest, slapped his ass hard enough for the sound to echo, for the rest of the dancers and the men they were entertaining to laugh.

Taekwoon squeezed his eyes closed and tried not to pay attention to the way Hakyeon's laugh was exactly the same as it had always been, when they argued over dinner, or what movie they were going to watch on Thursday nights when the rest of their floor was out drinking and the two of them had the TV room to themselves.

“What's wrong, Jung,” the man asked, and Taekwoon took in a quick breath, looking over because he couldn't help it, because it was instinct, and got an eyeful of Hakyeon grinding down, an earful of his soft moans into the man's ear, _so big, wish you were fucking me, I know you want them all to watch you fuck me into this table._ “You ain't into the boys?”

Taekwoon hardly thought Hakyeon counted as a _boy,_ he was twenty-seven, but he did look young. Maybe it was just the red lights over their heads.

“Bet he's just scared,” Hakyeon murmured, and Taekwoon stared at him, eyes wide. Hakyeon's teeth were bared in a malicious grin. “Scared to _death._ ”

“Don't,” he said, voice hard, stronger than he felt. “Don't you dare.”

“Come on, beautiful,” Hwang hummed. “Get me off, I'll make it worth your while.” Hakyeon's hips started up again, and his eyes stayed on Taekwoon, his lips curled in a sneer as he rubbed himself against the man beside him, mewling low into his ear, whispering words Taekwoon couldn't quite hear, not that he wanted to.

Hakyeon had always wanted to be a professional dancer. He'd been determined, driven to succeed with a fire few possessed, and the last time they'd seen one another they'd had an argument. Taekwoon couldn't remember how it started, but he'd... They'd. Said some pretty awful things about one another. _You'll never get a career in dancing,_ he'd snarled. _And even if you do, good luck making it last more than a fucking year—you'll be dancing on tables before you know it._

Hakyeon, who had been preparing a retort, had fallen silent. Blessed, blessed silence for the first time in four years and Taekwoon had felt triumphant for a moment, before the reality of what he'd said settled in. Hakyeon was chaste and warm, virtuous and loving, and he'd just implied—he'd just—

_Hakyeon,_ he'd said, and Hakyeon had jerked away from him, crying in front of Taekwoon for the first and last time in the emptied space of their dorm room, the remnants of their last four years together taken away to separate cars, to separate lives. _Hakyeon no, I didn't—I didn't mean that, Hakyeonah I'm sorry—_

_Don't lie to me,_ Hakyeon had hissed, and Taekwoon hated that a part of him, the dark and ugly part, didn't care how much he'd hurt the man who was supposed to be his best friend. Let him be hurt, he'd thought at the time. His ego needed to be cut down to size. And after a while he'd stopped thinking about it.

“Oh, that's good,” the executive groaned, dropping his head back and pushing a few more bills into Hakyeon's bra. “Fuck, so good. Those hips, baby. You're a _star._ ”

Hakyeon smiled and pushed away, gathering up the bills and bending to kiss the man's cheek. “Next time, Daddy.” Taekwoon's entire gut heaved and he jerked up when Hakyeon left—gasping in horror as Hwang slipped him a few large bills.

“Go get that ass, tiger.”

Taekwoon's hands clenched and he took off down the hallway after Hakyeon, only to be stopped by another stripper, who pressed a hand to his chest and eyed him un and down. “And where do you think you're going, huh? The back is off-limits.”

“I need to talk to Hakyeon, Cha Hakyeon—”

“There's no one who works here named that,” the man—woman? Said, eyes narrow.

“Let him back, Baehwa,” Hakyeon called. “He'll be out fast.”

The woman—man? Baehwa, moved out of the way, eyes hard. “You make it quick,” he said, and Taekwoon stumbled down the hallway into the room Hakyeon's voice had come out of.

“You here for that dance?” Hakyeon asked, turning to look at Taekwoon, already halfway out of his clothes, the bra and fishnet that decorated his arms stripped away. “Have a seat. I'll make it good for you.” Taekwoon stared and Hakyeon reached out to drag him in and push his weight down into the hard plastic chair, straddling over his thighs. “You're hard,” he observed, and Taekwoon felt like he was frozen, unable to move or breathe or think. “Is that for me?”

“Hakyeon,” Taekwoon managed, strangled. “Hakyeon what—m”

“It's En,” Hakyeon said, and Taekwoon shook his head. “Yes. It's En now, Jung Taekwoon.” He rolled his hips, gripped the back of the chair and ground down his weight, and Taekwoon could feel the warmth of his body, so fucking close. “And aren't you so pleased?” Hakyeon's hand was unbuckling his belt. “Aren't you so pleased with yourself?” His hand was slipping under the material and wrapping around his cock. “You were right. You were right after all.”

“No,” Taekwoon shook his head, pushing at Hakyeon, yanking his arm away, grabbing him by the wrists. “No, no stop it, Hakyeon I need to talk to you—”

“And what business does a big-name producer and composer need with a hooker?” he asked, still rocking his hips, moaning quietly. “What do we even have to talk about aside from this? That cock, all hard for me.”

“Hakyeon—Hakyeon, _stop,_ ” Taekwoon shoved Hakyeon off of his lap to the floor, jerking up and struggling to fix his pants, hands shaking. He'd dropped the bills to the floor and Hakyeon stayed where he was, smiling up at him.

“Is that for me?” he asked, and Taekwoon knew he meant the cash on the floor.

“I don't care,” he said, and Hakyeon laughed.

“Lucky you. Wish we could all afford to not care about a few hundred bucks.”

“Hakyeon—”

“Why did you come back here, Taekwoon,” Hakyeon asked, and he sounded so haggard. So _old._ Taekwoon's throat tightened as Hakyeon stood—gathered up the dropped bills and shoved them into a bag. “What do you want.”

“I just—I just wanted to...”

“To what? Gloat?” he asked, his voice soft. “To tell me you were fucking right?”

“No,” Taekwoon shook his head. “No, no, Hakyeon, I didn't—I said I was _sorry,_ I did.”

“Doesn't matter now, does it?” Hakyeon asked, and Taekwoon stood there dumbly as Hakyeon pulled off his clothes and wiped his body down with babywipes. There were bills stuck to his backside, to the front of his tummy, and he put those in the bag, too. “It was years ago. It doesn't matter.”

“I wasn't trying to hurt you.”

“Well you did. And it still hurts, so if you don't mind why don't you just go back to your scumbag coworkers and leave us working boys alone to do our jobs.” His voice was laced with venomous sarcasm.

“Why are you here?”

“That's none of your business,” Hakyeon replied.

“Hakyeon.”

“No,” he shook his head. “No, you don't get to fucking waltz back into my life one night and pretend that nothing ever happened. You don't get to use the best friend voice on me anymore, do you understand me, Jung Taekwoon? We're not friends.”

“I never wanted to stop being friends,” Taekwoon said, voice weak.

“Well that's just too damned bad, isn't it? I never wanted to be told I was going to be a hooker, but here we are.”

“That's not what I said,”

“No, but it's what you meant.”

For a long moment there was silence. Hakyeon pulled on underwear and skinny jeans—pulled on a long-sleeved shirt and shoved his feet into a pair of broken-down Birkenstocks. There were still remnants of glittering black liner around his eyes. He looked tired. He looked so tired and Taekwoon hated himself. He hadn't meant what he'd said. He'd been wrong and he knew it, he'd known Hakyeon always took everything so personally. But Hakyeon also always forgave, though apparently... Taekwoon wasn't worthy of that. He couldn't blame him.

“Get out of the way,” Hakyeon said, his hair tucked into a beanie, shrugging into a denim jacket he'd had since college, decorated with patches and pins. “You're blocking the door.”

Taekwoon leaned back against said door and Hakyeon sighed.

“Jung Taekwoon. Stop being a child.”

“Let me apologize.”

“Not a chance. Get out of the way.”

“Hakyeon, please.”

“ _Move._ Before I _make you._ ”

“Hakyeonah.”

“ _Please,_ ” Hakyeon said, and his voice strained, half-broken. “Please, Taekwoon. Leoyah. Please just get out of the way. I want to go home, okay? I want to go home to my shitty apartment and forget I ever saw you.”

_Leoyah._

Taekwoon's heart squeezed painfully and he hesitated, biting into his lip. The nickname was familiar and yet alien; a name he'd been called when it was just the two of them, best of friends, sometimes with benefits like kisses or snuggles when Taekwoon was having a hard time sleeping.

Hakyeon was making a move to go past him. Taekwoon reached out and grabbed his hand, held it tight. “Let go,” Hakyeon whispered. “Let go, Leoyah. You don't want to do this.”

“Don't tell me what I want,” Taekwoon replied, his voice just as small. “If you... At least,” he fumbled for his wallet, for one of his matte dark blue cards, with his name and cell phone number on it. “Please. I can't—I won't, but please, Hakyeon please, call me. For anything, please. _Please._ ”

Hakyeon took the card in his tanned fingers and Taekwoon looked at the chipped, sparkling red paint on his nails.

“Let go, Leoyah.”

His hand dropped, and he couldn't look up. He couldn't look at Hakyeon walking away again. He felt the whisper of a kiss against the soft hairs near his ear, and squeezed his eyes closed. The door opened, but didn't close, and he heard Baehwa's voice, surprisingly gentle.

“...Come on, man,” they said. “You gotta go.”

“Yeah,” Taekwoon nodded, leaving the dressing room and wishing he'd just gone home, wishing he'd gone home earlier, and none of this would have happened. He could go home to his well-off apartment and enjoy the worldly comforts without wondering if Hakyeon had them too, or if he was living in a tiny studio without room to dance in. Whether or not he was still even trying for dancing jobs, or whether or not he was considered too old. He wouldn't be wondering why Hakyeon was working in a strip club that was known for breaking rules regarding sexual relations, he wouldn't be wondering whether or not Hakyeon had been fucked by any of his coworkers—by Hwang, so good looking and suave and practically a psychopath, who had jerked his hips against Hakyeon until he'd cum in his slacks like some kind of fucking teenager.

He wouldn't be thinking about the bitter twist of Hakyeon's mouth when he said, _No, but it's what you meant._ He hadn't meant that. He _hadn't._

He gathered himself enough to get his bag and coat from the private room. Most of his coworkers had gone off with who knew, presumably taking his disappearance as permission to take off with their choice for the night.

Taekwoon was halfway to his car when he realized that the sharp piece of paper in his pocket was his card; bitten on one corner, with a smear of lipstick and _later, baby_ written hastily in sharpie.

Later, baby.

Not goodbye.

He felt a little bit of hope lance through him, painful and perfect.

 


End file.
